


Thirsty Thursday

by benicemurphy



Series: Coffee Shop AU/Age Gap AU [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awkward Flirting, Barista Keith (Voltron), Developing Relationship, First Dates, M/M, exaggerated age gap, silver fox shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benicemurphy/pseuds/benicemurphy
Summary: Keith finally scores a date with his ridiculously sexy favorite customer. It goes slightly differently than expected.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Coffee Shop AU/Age Gap AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525505
Comments: 59
Kudos: 245





	Thirsty Thursday

It’s a bad day at Uncommon Grounds. Keith feels it in his bones the minute he wakes up in the morning. Something in his gut is telling him to call out, that he absolutely does not want to be there today, but he can’t in good conscience call out without good reason, so he drags himself through his morning routine and to the cafe before he can convince himself otherwise.

It’s a disaster from the moment he walks in.

Some kid he doesn’t know is whipping around behind the counter, obviously frazzled and on the verge of panic, with no one else in sight. The workspace is an absolute mess. It’s obvious the new guy has no idea what he’s doing, but Keith can tell that this is a guy who wants to succeed and hasn’t been given the chance. No surprise there — Keith’s boss is notorious amongst the seasoned staff for throwing them to the wolves and setting them up for more hardship than they deserve.

Luckily Keith has managed to arrive seven minutes early, which means they’re still technically closed and he doesn’t have to let anyone in. No one is waiting outside, so without a word, he locks the door and turns off the overhead lights. They’ll have to work by the natural light coming in through the windows. If customers see the lights on, they’ll demand to be let in, especially since they’re supposed to be open in seven minutes. That’s not going to happen.

“What are you doing?!” the new kid cries. Poor soul. He hasn’t been numbed to the horrors of food service yet.

“We have to finish opening. If we start letting people in now, they’ll just keep coming, and we’ll never finish.”

He dashes to the back to clock in, then comes around and immediately gets to work.

“What have you already done?” Keith asks as he takes stock of his surroundings. The pastry case needs to be filled, the cold beverages aren’t made, and the espresso machines look like they haven’t been touched.

“Um,” the kid says. “I made the hot coffees, stocked the grab-and-go cooler, refilled the ice box…” He trails off, leaving Keith a little more stressed than before. Is that it?! Is that all he’s done?

“Okay, get started on the pastry case. Just stick one of everything we have in there. Don’t even bother warming them up. They’re just display anyway.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” he replies and immediately shuffles to the pastries that have been baked—

“Fuck,” Keith spits. “I take it you haven’t baked the muffins or bagels?”

The guy looks like he’s gonna have a nervous breakdown any minute.

“I’m so sorry, I showed up at six thinking someone would be here to help, but the other guy — Lotor, I think? — he just unlocked the door and told me there’s a list of opening duties on the wall and I haven’t seen him since. I tried to do it all, I swear, I haven’t been goofing off or anything but there’s _a lot_ of stuff on that list, and I don’t know where to find most of the things on there and—”

“Hey, wait, relax,” Keith says, turning to level the new guy with a firm look. “It’s okay. I’ll put up a sign outside stating that we’re having a store emergency and we’re opening an hour late. It’ll be fine. We have plenty of time.”

The new guy stares at him dumbly. “You can’t do that,” he states.

Keith sighs. “I can. It’s on Lotor’s head anyway. He was supposed to be here teaching you how to open, not abandoning you to figure it out for yourself. And that’s if the manager even finds out. He never shows up before eleven anyway.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Listen, do you want to get this done and open up an hour late, or do you want to argue with me and get us both fired for never opening at all?”

The guy actually stands there and _thinks about it_ before responding, but eventually comes to the right decision.

“Good,” Keith says. Forget the pastry case for now. We need to get baking.”

Keith shows the new guy (James, he eventually learns) where to find the pastries and various sandwich supplies in the freezer. He shows him how to turn on the industrial ovens, at which temperature and for how long to bake the bagels and muffins, and where to stock sandwich ingredients. He shows him the “display” function on the pastry oven, which they do end up using now that they have proper time to open, how to boot up the POS, where all of the coffee blends are located in the back, and how to run the cleaning cycle on the espresso machines.

By the time they open an hour later, James has received a full crash course in opening, and something tells Keith that he’s a quick learner who’s not going to forget his instructions any time soon, especially after the morning he’s had.

______________________

It’s a bad day at Uncommon Grounds.

Shiro knows this when he walks in the door, and immediately he braces himself for long wait times, both standing in line to order and to receive his drink. He knows this because the place is a mess. There are napkins and sugar packets on multiple tables, the self-service station is littered with stir sticks, empty straw wrappers, and loose sugar, and there’s been some sort of spill by one of the tables that has obviously been there for a while. He knows it’s a bad day because he’s only ever witnessed Keith cleaning up these kinds of messes, and right now Keith is standing behind the register with a scowl on his face.

Not that the scowl is really anything new, but his typical poker face is much more neutral and much less... _scowly_.

There’s only one other person behind the bar — the tall one he sees sometimes who doesn’t say much. He’s handling it objectively well; Keith is getting through the line in record time, and from what Shiro can hear, with minimal word usage (no time for pleasantries when the line nearly reaches the back door, he supposes), and the tall guy is calm and mostly focused, though obviously not working quickly enough for many patrons’ satisfaction.

The patrons standing in line are one of two things: grumpy and huffing every other breath about how long the line is taking, or staring obliviously down at their phones, taking too long to realize it’s their turn and ultimately holding up the line even more.

Frankly, though, Shiro hates the ones who complain more. No one is forcing them to stay in line. They have the option to leave, but it’s obvious they’d rather stay and bitch about it. Shiro knows these people well enough from years of frequenting places just like this one: they’ll take advantage of Keith’s frustration and need to get quickly through the line by strong-arming him into giving them something for free, “due to the ridiculous wait.” If Shiro wasn’t quite so interested in the cute barista, he would probably just turn around and leave right now.

In front of him, there’s a woman probably ten years his senior texting on her phone using the hunt-and-peck method, and he can feel the disapproval wafting through the air each time she sighs and pokes out another word.

Behind him, there’s some kid smacking his gum. He wants to turn around and tell him to chew with his mouth closed, but he’s not _quite_ ready to become his father yet.

He sighs and settles in, pulling up the e-book he’s been reading in his spare time.

A few minutes into his wait, the interaction at the register catches his attention. There’s a man there getting progressively louder, and Keith looks like he wishes he could either stab the man or drop dead himself.

“It’s cold. I wanna know why the hell you sold me a cold latte.”

Upon closer inspection, the man isn’t even standing in line. He’s just come up to the register to interrupt the interaction Keith was having with the person trying to place their order.

“It wasn’t cold when we made it,” Keith says. The man scoffs.

“I asked for this extra hot. Do you know what that means? There’s a button on the machine that makes the milk extra hot. They should have taught you that when you started working here.”

Shiro watches Keith’s face very closely and notices his left eye might be twitching just a little.

“I’m familiar with the machine, _Sir_ ,” Keith says. “It was extra hot when it was made it. There’s not much we can do to keep it warm if you don’t come pick it up.”

“You didn’t call it out. How was I supposed to come pick it up if I didn’t even know it was done?”

The man looks stupidly triumphant, as though he’s trapped Keith with his wit and now Keith will _have_ to give him something for free.

“Dude, I called it out three times,” Keith’s coworker interjects. “Not my fault you weren’t paying attention.”

The customer whirls on him.

“I’m not talking to you. You need to go back to making drinks and let me talk to the person who sold this to me.”

Keith takes a deep, steadying breath (or at least, Shiro assumes it’s to steady himself), nostrils flaring a bit as he looks like he’s struggling to maintain his composure.

“Nah, I made the drink, so you’re talking to me. You’re holding up the line, too. You need to move over.”

It’s at this point that a general grumble starts to work through the line. Other customers are watching the exchange, some with amusement and some with obvious irritation and impatience. Shiro’s beginning to feel pretty impatient himself, but more than anything, pissed off on behalf of the clearly understaffed and overworked employees behind the counter that have to put up with this shit.

“I’m not going anywhere!” The man bellows. “Either remake my drink the way I ordered it or give me my fucking money back.”

Keith shares a look with his coworker, shrugs, and makes some kind of hand-waving gesture that the coworker interprets as permission to remake the drink. Keith holds out his hand to the customer, wordlessly, and nearly snatches the drink back. Shiro holds back a wince — it’s probably a bit ruder than Keith should allow himself to be, but then again, the guy is a jackass, and Shiro can’t really blame Keith for the rudeness. Keith hands the drink over to his coworker, who promptly up-ends the thing into one of the steaming pitchers and shoves it under the wand. He mashes a button — extra hot, Shiro assumes — steams the drink, then dumps it back into the same cup.

The man is still taking up space at the register and refusing to move until he gets his “new” drink. When the lid has been replaced, the other guy hands it off to Keith, who passes it along to the customer with an eyebrow raised in challenge.

The guy takes it, again looking triumphant (even though that drink is probably disgusting and potentially not safe), and says, “I thought so. Don’t forget who pays your rent.”

Keith rolls his eyes, still seething, but turns his attention to the poor customer who had a front row seat to the whole thing. His coworker, however, is apparently shameless as he lets out a scoff and then calls after the guy, “I get paid whether you like that shit or not!”

Shiro turns to see the man’s reaction. He’s obviously about to come back and say something, but a group of customers near the back of the line are now booing, complaining, and blocking his re-entry. After one especially large guy tells him he’s caused enough problems and he better move along, the problem customer finally takes his leave, but not before calling over his shoulder, “I’m going to Starbucks from now on!”

It looks like Keith is too busy to have even heard, and the coworker just laughs while he continues to catch up on orders.

On the bright side, at least the disruption at the register allowed the kid making drinks to dispel most of the waiting crowd.

The line moves on until the woman ahead of Shiro makes it to the front. Her order is, objectively, horrifying. It’s apparently horrifying enough even for Keith that he has to check with her to make sure he understood it correctly.

“Ten?”

“Ten extra shots, yeah.”

“And... you also want iced coffee in that?”

The woman pauses, and when Shiro chances a look at her face, nearly kicks her for the way she’s staring at Keith like he’s a moron.

“I want. A large iced coffee. With ten extra shots of espresso. And no ice.”

She says it slowly and deliberately as though Keith is an untrained monkey.

“I was just _checking_ ,” Keith snaps. His patience is clearly running on fumes at this point. He starts jabbing the POS repeatedly until he gives an aggravated huff. “It won’t even let me charge you for ten extra shots.”

The women rolls her eyes and starts impatiently jabbing her card in Keith’s direction. “Yes it will. I get it all the time. It should be thirteen dollars.”

Keith looks at the screen, then her, then the screen again. He leans forward and studies something, then leans back again. Finally, he shrugs and says, “Fine, whatever.” He takes the card, pointedly shoves it into the chip reader on the counter right in front of the woman, and completes the transaction without her help. When the machine beeps for her to remove the card, he loudly calls, “Next!” And then turns his eyes on Shiro.

“Oh, hi!” He blinks, clearly surprised. Shiro supposes that with how busy it’s been, Keith hasn’t had much time to pay attention to anything more than the customer in front of him. One customer at a time.

“Hey,” Shiro greets warmly. “Busy day?”

Keith groans. “You have no idea. We got a new guy this morning, who’s probably great, but Lotor abandoned him to open alone. It was a mess when I got here. We opened an hour late and it’s been hell ever since. Turns out people don’t like when you disrupt their routine. Who knew,” he adds sarcastically. “What are you getting today?”

Belatedly, Shiro realizes that he hasn’t even looked at the menu. “No idea, whatever you think I’ll like. I trust you. Go on, you were saying?”

Keith picks up the largest cup and scribbles something on it, then calls over to his coworker, “Hey, call out the name on this one, okay?” His coworker — Rolo, Shiro sees now that he’s close enough to read his name tag — glances over, then gives a short nod of assent. Keith turns back to Shiro and begins punching things into the POS. “James apparently only works until ten, so for some stupid reason, Rolo and I are the only ones on the schedule today until Nyma gets in. But she’s an hour and a half late, so who even knows if she’s gonna show up.” Rolo grunts beside him. “Normally there’s a mid, which is Lance’s shift, except he’s already scheduled five days this week, and apparently the manager hasn’t hired any other mids yet. Do you want anything to eat?”

Shiro takes about three seconds to consider and then nods. “Sure, thanks. I’m sorry, Keith,” he says as Keith finishes punching in his mystery order. “You guys don’t deserve it.”

Keith sighs. “Yeah, well. It’ll slow down soon, probably. At least I can see the end of the line, now.”

It’s true. When Shiro turns around to confirm, the line is about half as long as it was when he originally got in it, which means fewer people are piling into the coffee shop.

“Hang in there,” he says. He debates with himself for a few nanoseconds before he throws caution to the wind and suggests, as casually as he can muster, “Maybe I’ll buy you a drink after your shift to make up for your crappy day.” He throws in an awkward laugh for good measure.

“Oh.” Keith freezes and blinks at the screen for a second, then up at Shiro. “It’s, uh, ten thirty-eight,” he says and gestures to the card reader.

Shiro doesn’t say anything else as he goes through the motions of paying. He hopes he hasn’t just made it weird between them, because he really likes this place despite the shitty management. Of course, Keith is a massive part of that, which circles back to how much he hopes he hasn’t inappropriately hit on a young employee and made him uncomfortable. At best, maybe they can just pretend he never said anything.

He smiles at Keith as he’s putting his card back in his wallet, but before he can walk away, Keith says, “So uh, are you gonna hang out for a few minutes? You got time?”

Shiro smiles again, more genuinely this time, and the lead weight in his stomach releases a little. “I’ve got time,” he confirms, then makes his way over to begin the long wait.

His drink comes out surprisingly quickly, but he doesn’t question it; he just takes it and the cranberry and cheese danish that Keith ordered for him and takes a seat at his favorite table. The danish is dangerously delicious (he can see himself gaining a few pounds while these are in stock), the whatever-he’s-drinking is perfect, and slowly but surely, the line dies down. Shiro even gets to see Keith laugh with one of his customers. The tension is draining out of him, and he’s as beautiful as ever.

(Though, admittedly, Shiro misses the tight pants and thermal that Keith only wears when his other work clothes are dirty. What can he say — Shiro is a man of simple tastes.)

After the line has been dealt with, Shiro watches Keith wipe down all of the sticky surfaces and tidy everything up. There’s still trash on the floor that needs to be swept, but as Keith explains when he plops himself down at Shiro’s table, “I’m on break. Rolo can deal with it.” Shiro just laughs and finishes off the rest of his now-room-temperature coffee.

Shiro doesn’t dare bring up the invitation for drinks again unless Keith brings it up first. It’s sweet that Keith likes him enough that he asked him to stick around, but he doesn’t know what it means.

“Has it been like that all day?” He asks when Keith picks his head up off the table. His hair is falling out of its little ponytail into thin wisps that frame his face. He’s gorgeous even sweaty and disheveled. Shiro tries to force himself not to imagine Keith sweaty and disheveled for other reasons and thoroughly fails. It’s not like it would be the first time, anyway.

It’s been... weird, coming to terms with the fact that he’s been pretty shamelessly flirting with his friend’s son for the past four months or so. At least, he thinks Krolia could be considered a friend. He’s forty-two and still not sure if friendly work associates can really qualify as friends, even if they regularly meet for coffee. She’s older than him, but only just, and the idea that the object of his affections is young enough to be her son makes him feel decidedly _old_ , and maybe a little bit creepy.

“Yep,” Keith responds, popping the _p_. “We need help. It’s not usually busy like this, but when all of this seasonal shit comes out, people go nuts. Lance and I have been begging our manager to hire some seasonal workers, but he’s too cheap.”

“What about the new guy?” Shiro asks.

“He’s an opener, and I guess he’s working six days a week, but he only works six to ten. He has another job or something. We still don’t have any extra workers for the rest of the week. Lotor’s pretty much useless, too, since he only comes around when he feels like it, but the manager won’t hire anyone else since he says he schedules enough people as it is, and it’s up to us to show up.”

Shiro scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. Has he considered the amount of business he’s probably losing when people walk in, see the lines, and walk back out?”

“Of course not. He’s convinced that the way he’s doing it brings in the best possible numbers. It’s also why he won’t order more food, even though we run out of something every single week. He says that buying and selling this exact amount is the maximum profit margin. Doesn’t even register when we tell him that he could be selling _more_ , because people come in here and then leave without buying anything once we tell them we don’t have, like, eggs or whatever for the breakfast sandwiches.”

“You guys run out of _eggs_?”

What the fuck kind of business model is that? Running out of the main ingredient for all breakfast sandwiches and not even bothering to increase the order?

Keith begins listing ingredients and counting them on his fingers. “Eggs, sausage, bacon, cream cheese — you name it, we’ve run out of it. People get pretty pissed waiting in line for ten or twenty minutes only to be told we don’t even have anything they want.”

“I can imagine,” Shiro says. “How unfair to you guys.”

“Yeah, it’s shitty.” Keith shrugs. “I’d quit, but I don’t have a lot of other options for jobs right now, and there’s always rent and bills to pay, so. It’s whatever, I guess.”

Shiro feels a pang of sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he offers. “I’d help you if I could.” Shiro has never had to work this kind of job before, so he doesn’t know exactly what Keith’s dealing with, but he’s witnessed enough over-the-top reactions from customers to have a general idea of what the day-to-day is like. The other stuff, about ordering and profit margins and seasonal help — that’s all vague and unrelatable to someone who’s never worked food service or retail. He understands the problem in theory, but he doesn’t have the experience to sympathize on a personal level.

“Well uh,” Keith starts. He clears his throat and twiddles his thumbs in front of him. He looks a bit bashful, and it’s ridiculously cute. “There is one way you can help.”

Shiro’s interest is piqued, but he hopes Keith isn’t about to ask him for money or a roommate or something. He’s really not interested in some kind of weird sugar daddy situation.

“Oh?”

“Is that offer for drinks still on the table? I could, uh, really use something to take the edge off of this shitty day.”

Shiro immediately brightens, though he hopes it doesn’t show too obviously on his face. “Absolutely,” he says. “What time do you get off? Want me to pick you up from here?”

Keith relaxes a bit from where he’d tensed up to ask the question. “I’m actually off in about an hour, but I need to go home and shower. I feel sticky and disgusting. Plus, I spilled an entire pitcher of milk on my pants earlier and I’d rather not smell like rotting milk the first time we hang out.”

Shiro smiles. The way Keith casually says _the first time_ as if he plans for there to be a next time makes a little bit of hope bloom in his chest. “No problem. Should I come pick you up, or would you rather meet at the bar?”

He watches as Keith takes his bottom lip between his teeth. It looks like a nervous gesture, or something he does while he’s thinking. It’s cute, but it makes Shiro wish it was _his_ teeth biting that lip.

“Meet there?”

Shiro tries not to be disappointed. He was hoping for maybe more of a date-like situation, but maybe they aren’t quite there yet, or maybe he hadn’t been clear with his intentions. Either way, he’ll be happy to spend a night out with Keith. The boy deserves a break and some relaxation. Shiro has seen how hard he works.

“Sounds good,” Shiro responds. “Should we exchange numbers? I can text you the name of the place.”

Some of Keith’s hair falls into his face as he ducks down to pull out his phone. It obstructs Shiro’s view of his face, but not his neck, which is noticeably pinker than before. Keith fiddles with something on his phone for a couple of seconds. Shiro isn’t sure if he’s actually looking for something or trying to hide his blush, but either way, Shiro is charmed and pleased that he can pull that kind of reaction out of him. Maybe he’s still got it.

Keith hands over his phone a moment later and, yep, he’s still pink in the cheeks, as Shiro suspected.

Once the exchange is complete, Shiro checks his watch and realizes he’s cutting it dangerously close to a meeting for which he’s supposed to be present and stands to collect his things.

“I hate to get your number and run, but I’m late for a meeting. Everything was great, by the way,” he says in regard to the food and beverage. “I’ll text you soon, okay? See you in a couple of hours?”

Keith stands and stretches his arms over his head with a groan and a sickening series of pops. The movement lifts his shirt enough that Shiro glimpses a sliver of tight, toned, pale skin. He’s certain that information will feature in his fantasies sometime this week.

“I should get back to work anyway,” Keith says.

Shiro is distracted enough that he forgets to look away until it’s too late. When he meets Keith’s eye, Keith has one eyebrow raised and a wicked little smirk on his face. Mercifully, he doesn’t call him out, but Shiro knows he’s been caught all the same.

“Go, get out of here. Don’t be late. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Keith turns and walks into the back room, and it’s Shiro who’s red in the face as he exits the cafe and hurries back to work.

______________________

The place is way nicer than any of the bars Keith is used to. It’s not that Keith hangs out in shady dive bars, but… well, this place is _nice_. It’s the kind of nice that has him calculating when he last got paid and what expenses he’ll have for the next six days and how much food is left in his cabinets.

He feels a little underdressed in his skinny jeans and leather jacket, especially considering the number of business people there still in their nice work clothes. At least his hair is clean and he (hopefully) doesn’t smell like a walking coffee bean.

Shiro is sitting at the bar when Keith walks in, talking to some older guy. Keith feels a little weird just walking up to him, but he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to do, so he does a quick survey of the liquor available behind the bar and tries not to break into a nervous sweat looking at the house selection. This will probably be a pretty short date, if that’s even what this is, if he has to pay what he considers premium prices for the cheapest available options.

Keith sidles up to the bar and waits, either for the bartender or Shiro to notice him. It’s Shiro who finds him first, which is unsurprising considering Keith is _pretty_ sure the bartender is studiously not looking his way. He probably thinks Keith can’t afford to tip him.

Which, okay, that’s probably fair.

“Keith! You made it!” Shiro greets him with a firm clasp to the shoulder. It doesn’t feel very date-like at first, but then he loosens his grip and lets his hand travel just the slightest bit down Keith’s shoulder blade and lingers. “You look good,” he says.

Keith feels himself beginning to blush, so he turns the attention off of himself. He gives Shiro a good and obvious once-over and says, “Thanks, so do you.”

It’s gratifying to see the way Shiro has to fight to keep his smile cool and collected, not splitting his face the way Keith can tell it wants to.

“I was actually just talking to a colleague of mine.” He gestures to the guy from earlier, who seems to have just finished paying his bill and is heading out. The guy turns back to give Shiro a final wave, and Keith doesn’t miss the way he seems to size Keith up before he turns and heads out. It makes his hackles rise a little. “Come on,” Shiro continues. “Let’s grab a table, something a little more comfortable than sitting at the bar.”

Keith nods and allows Shiro to guide him with the hand on his shoulder blade. They find a cozy spot at a booth in the corner of the bar. The tabletop is covered with a white tablecloth. The walls, benches, and bar are all made of natural, lacquered wood, and Keith doesn’t see any sharpie graffiti or key carvings in any of them. There’s mood lighting that makes it a little more difficult to see, but each table has an unlit candle that Keith assumes can be lit by request.

“This place is really nice,” Keith says as he tries to make himself comfortable in the booth. The temperature inside is comfortable, probably due to the lack of sweaty bodies touching him, so he leaves his jacket on for now.

“Is it?” Shiro asks. He looks around, assessing. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He chuckles a little, and though it’s a little hard to tell, he looks like he might be pinking a bit in the cheeks. “I hope it’s okay? This is where I usually go when I want to unwind.

“It’s fine,” Keith says, and then, worried he may be coming off as ungrateful, adds, “I’m happy to try new things.”

Shiro smiles. “That’s good to hear.”

They lapse into a brief silence in which neither of them know how to proceed. Thankfully, it doesn’t last too long, as a waiter comes over to ask if they’ll be dining tonight or just helping themselves to the happy hour specials. Keith tries not to visibly sigh in relief at the mention of happy hour. He does, however, pass on the food. He’s not ready to pay eighteen dollars for a cheeseburger or whatever.

“I’m not really hungry yet,” he tells Shiro. “Still kinda wound up from work. Maybe later?”

Shiro nods. “Of course,” he concedes with a smile.

The waiter takes a step back. “No problem. Feel free to order your drinks at the bar, and let me know if you change your mind about dinner.” Then he’s off.

Shiro stands, and Keith makes to go with him, but Shiro shakes his head and gestures that Keith should stay seated. “I’ll be right back. My treat, remember?”

Keith nods a little dumbly, but he supposes that _is_ sort of what they agreed to earlier when Shiro said he’d take him out for a drink. _One_ drink, though. Keith may be twenty-five and poor, but he still has his pride.

“So what’ll it be?”

He thinks back on the bar’s selection he’d scanned earlier and can’t come up with anything off the top of his head.

“Whatever you think is good,” he shrugs, mirroring their usual interactions at the cafe. “I’m not picky.”

Shiro grins and raises a challenging eyebrow at Keith. He doesn’t say anything, though, just assesses Keith for a minute, then turns and goes to order at the bar. Keith doesn’t even bother hiding the way his eyes trail over Shiro’s ass and thighs in those sinfully tailored slacks. Who’s going to see? Nobody here knows him.

He watches Shiro easily catch the bartender’s attention and place his order. He can’t hear what’s being said, but after a moment Shiro gestures over to his table. It feels good to be acknowledged in public by someone like Shiro — older, more distinguished, obviously better-off than himself — until Keith sees the bartender shake his head. Shiro turns around to glance at Keith, effectively catching him staring, before he makes a “one moment” gesture at the bartender and comes back over to the table.

“So, uh, the bartender needs to see your ID.”

“Oh, fuck.” Keith tries his best not to let his humiliation show on his face. He’s not _always_ asked to show his ID, but it does happen sometimes. Mostly, he realizes, the people at the bars he frequents are just used to seeing him. He fumbles his wallet out of his stupidly tight jeans (why the fuck had he thought these were a good idea?!) and wrestles his ID out of the little plastic pocket. “Should I just come over there?”

Shiro shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’ll just take it over.”

Keith hands over the ID and nods. He can’t quite look Shiro in the eye as he does. He waits for Shiro to come back with their drinks and his fucking ID without taking his eyes off of the tabletop in front of him.

“Here we are,” Shiro says, setting what looks like a tiny ceramic vase in front of him. He’s trying to be casual and not draw attention to the whole ID thing, Keith knows — and he appreciates it, really — but he can’t just _not_ say anything.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles awkwardly. “They don’t usually ask at the places I go.”

Shiro clears his throat and takes a sip of his drink. “No problem.”

Keith hopes he isn’t just saying that.

“So, uh, what exactly did you get me?” he asks, hoping to lighten the mood again. It seems to work, if the way Shiro smiles at him is any indication.

“Hot saké,” he says. “Ever tried it?”

Keith shakes his head. “Heard of it, but the only places I’ve been that serve it are sushi restaurants, so I’ve never really had the desire to try it.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat.”

Shiro pushes the tiny pitcher toward him just an inch and produces a little tiny cup to go with it. Keith takes his cue and pours a little into the cup. He sniffs it first, but it doesn’t smell familiar. He’s slightly wary, but Keith has never been one to back down from a challenge. He takes a tiny sip at first, just to taste it, then knocks back the whole thing.

It’s… warm. But surprisingly, it doesn’t burn the way he expects shots to burn.

He looks up at Shiro, who is very obviously holding back a grin.

“What do you think?” Shiro asks.

Keith feels one eyebrow go up as he assesses Shiro’s reaction. “It’s weird, but not bad.”

“Try sipping the next one,” Shiro says, letting his grin break loose. Keith’s knees would buckle if he wasn’t already seated. “You might actually be able to taste it.”

The second time goes better. It’s weird, but mostly because it’s warm, and after a little while he finds that he actually likes it.

“Not bad,” he tells Shiro.

“Worth trying something new?”

Keith’s lip twitches up just a little. “Definitely.” He waves his cup in a vague gesture toward Shiro. “What did you get?”

“Gin and tonic.”

“Ah, good choice.”

They lapse into a brief silence, neither of them really sure where to go from here. Keith breaks it first; he likes Shiro, a lot, and he really doesn’t want this date to go poorly.

“Thanks for taking me out tonight, Shiro. I’m glad we’re finally getting to hang out.”

“Me too,” Shiro says with a small smile. “Thank you for agreeing to come. I thought maybe I’d overstepped when I asked.”

He looks a bit bashful, and wow, it’s so fucking cute. Keith has eyes; he’s always known how attractive Shiro is, but he doesn’t typically see guys Shiro’s age and think _cute_.

“Oh, no, don’t worry. I’m, uh, really glad you asked. You just caught me a little off guard.”

“Sorry,” Shiro replies easily.

Keith smirks. “I’m not.” He deliberately drags his gaze down and across Shiro’s broad chest. He’s still wearing his suit jacket, though it’s unbuttoned, and the shirt underneath is a pale pink with the top two buttons undone, giving Keith a perfect view of the dip between his collarbones. It’s fucking incredible. Suits were made for this man.

When he drags his eyes back up to Shiro’s, he sees him swallow. The light is low, but not low enough that Keith can’t see how pink his ears are.

“Yes, well,” Shiro says, leaning back with an arm across the back of the booth just to show off. “I think it’s about time for another drink, don’t you?”

Keith picks up the little saké pitcher and shakes it. There’s still plenty left in there. “Looks like I’m still good,” he says. He pours another cup and takes a long sip. It’s definitely growing on him.

“Well, I think I could use another, if you don’t mind.”

Keith gestures to the bar. “By all means.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Shiro comes back with another drink that looks the same as his last one.

“Let me know when you’d like another,” he says.

Keith pours himself the last bit of his saké. “Oh. I thought there was more than that.”

Shiro chuckles, and once again Keith feels knocked down by his perfect smile. “The tokkuri is heavier than it looks.”

“The _what_?”

“The uh— the carafe, it’s called a tokkuri.”

“Oh.” He’s not trying to seem like a culturally inept loser, but, well— “I— yeah, I guess it is.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow at him.

“Heavier than it looks,” he clarifies. His face feels like it’s on fire. This date isn’t going the way he wants. “Shit, sorry,” he says. He’s not really sure what he’s apologizing for.

“Oh, no, Keith, it’s fine, I’m not— I mean, sorry, that’s not like, common knowledge or whatever. My dad has always had a saké set, and he speaks mostly Japanese, so…” He trails off, but Keith breathes a little easier. It’s nice of Shiro to explain, to do what he can to ease Keith’s rapidly fraying nerves.

Keith takes the bare thread of conversation and hopes he can weave it into something interesting.

“You speak Japanese?” he asks.

“For the most part, yeah,” Shiro says. “I think it’s technically my first language since my parents both spoke it to me growing up, but I was born and raised in the U.S., so I have a better grasp on English. Besides, I never formally learned Japanese, so some of the grammar still stumps me when I’m out of practice.”

“Wow,” Keith breathes. “That’s really cool, Shiro. You like, speak it with your parents?”

“Yeah, but they’re really the only ones. And they live pretty far away now, so I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like.”

“Oh, that’s hard,” Keith commiserates. “My mom was gone for a long time, like all of middle and high school. But I got her back, eventually, which is great.”

Shiro takes a long sip of his drink. “You guys seems close,” he says after a moment. It feels like he’s being careful.

“We are,” Keith smiles. “I’m really happy to have her so close now. She, uh, seems to like you, too.”

He’s nearly finished with the last little bit of his saké, and he wishes he had something else to do with his hands besides fidget with the almost-empty cup.

Shiro pauses with his cup in midair. “You’ve talked to her about me?”

_Oh god_ , that sounds bad. Keith nearly chokes on his last ill-timed sip. “Not— not like that,” he says through raspy breaths. “Just, she’s mentioned you a bunch of times. I didn’t make the connection that you were the same Shiro she always talks about until my birthday.”

“Oh, okay.” Shiro breathes out a long breath. Fuck, Keith did _not_ mean to make Shiro think he’s been giggling about him with his mommy.

“Yeah, she’s always said nice things about you.” There’s another pause where neither of them really has anything else to add. “I came to that conclusion on my own, though,” he says, trying and probably failing to save face.

Just as he’s about to become massively embarrassed, Shiro leans forward, letting himself just a little bit into Keith’s space.

“You think nice things about me?” he asks.

He’s teasing, Keith realizes. Oh, okay, maybe he’s not totally hopeless.

“All kinds of nice things,” he replies, mirroring Shiro’s position. The mood lighting is nice this close.

“What kinds of things?”

Beneath the table, something nudges against his foot. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never played footsie with anyone before — he thought that was just a thing people did in movies.

His saké is finished, but he can definitely feel its effects now. It’s enough for him to let himself reach across the table and graze one finger against Shiro’s hand.

“Well, you seem pretty nice,” he begins. “Smart, probably, if you can keep up with my mom. And, well…”

He lets Shiro wait while his finger traces up the side of Shiro’s hand and circles the knob of his wrist. Shiro’s pinky twitches, but he doesn’t move. It makes Keith feel good, like he’s affecting Shiro in some way.

“And?” Shiro prompts. It comes out a little shaky.

“And you _really_ know how to wear a suit.” Keith withdraws his hand just a little. “I could use another drink.”

Shiro just stares at him for a long beat before he nods and seems to come back to himself. “Right, yeah. Any input this time?”

“Maybe just a Malibu and Coke.”

Shiro nods again.

“Actually, make it a double,” Keith adds, only half-joking.

Shiro shoots him an almost shy grin, like Keith allowing him to buy him another drink just made his night. It’s ridiculous, but it’s… also kind of amazing. Keith lets himself relax a little. He’d promised himself only one drink, but they’re having a good time, he thinks, and Shiro seems genuinely happy to treat.

“So,” Shiro says as he sits back down, looking far more collected than he had just moments before. “Tell me about yourself, Keith.”

Keith nearly laughs. “Really? Shiro, I see you like four times a week."

Shiro shrugs and takes a sip. “That’s just how you are at work. When you think about it, we really don’t know anything about each other.”

And, well, Keith supposes that’s reasonably true.

“Okay,” he says, shifting to make himself comfortable. “What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to tell me, I guess. Family, friends, where you went to school, _if_ you went to school, hopes and dreams… Just, whatever you feel like sharing.”

Keith takes a deep breath. These aren’t the same questions he’s used to answering on a first date, but honestly, it’s refreshing.

“Okay, well, um, I did go to college. I have a B.S. in physics. You know my mom, obviously. I told you she just came back a few years ago. Before that it was just me and my pop. No siblings.” He pauses to take a sip. It feels weird just listing off his life. “I have some friends, I guess. I like my coworkers, for the most part. I have a couple of friends from college that I still keep in touch with. Though mostly I work and then go home and try to have the energy for my hobbies before I have to pass out and wake up and do it all again.”

Was that too honest? Does it make him sound pathetic?

“Ah, yeah, I know how that is,” Shiro responds easily. “Sometimes I get home and am too tired to even make myself something to eat. But I guess that’s how the pizza places stay in business, right?”

Keith huffs a little laugh.

“I guess so,” he concedes. “Most nights I just end up with a sandwich or a bowl of popcorn or something if I don’t feel like cooking.”

“Well, maybe next time you don’t feel like cooking, I could take you out for dinner.”

Keith’s heart begins to race. “Really?”

Shiro finishes the last of his drink and sets it back on the table with the satisfying sound of heavy glass on wood.

“Really,” he says. “I don’t know much about you, Keith, but my gut is telling me that I want to know more. I like you, and if you’d let me, I’d really like to get to know you better.”

“Okay.” He hears himself agree before he even has time to think about it. What’s there to think about? Keith’s been daydreaming about spending some _quality time_ with Shiro for months. He’s sweet, he’s easy to talk to, he’s fucking _hot_. “Yeah, okay. You can take me to dinner. I’d like that.”

He can’t even remember the last time someone’s taken him out to dinner.

“I’ll wear something nicer next time,” he tries to joke, but it comes out sounding a little self-deprecating.

“You look amazing,” Shiro says. His eyes are so earnest. “Besides, we can go anywhere you want. I’m not picky. I just want to spend more time with you.”

Keith does too, but he’s starting to feel a little flushed from sitting still for too long. “Do you wanna go for a walk?” he blurts.

Shiro looks taken aback for just a second, but then he smiles, all soft and sweet, not at all like the sexy smirks he’s been shooting across the table all night.

“Sure,” he says. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

Shiro returns quickly. The bartender nods at them both on the way out — already a massive improvement in their relationship, if Keith does say so himself. The idea strikes him as funny, and he giggles to himself a little.

“What are you laughing at?” Shiro asks. The outside air is brisk, but not freezing. Shiro puts a hand at the small of Keith’s back and begins to gently guide him again. Keith doesn’t know where they’re going, but it’s fine.

“The bartender,” Keith answers. Shiro tilts his head at him inquisitively. “He wouldn’t even look at me when I got there.”

Shiro frowns. “What? Why not?”

Keith waves him off. “Oh, nothing. Just you know, I’m not exactly the usual demographic of that place.”

Shiro’s frown deepens. “Oh, Keith, I’m sorry. I thought it would be nice.”

“It was!” Keith stops, and Shiro stops with him. Keith turns to look Shiro in the eye. It’s a little more difficult than he expected. Somehow in the past hour or two, he’d forgotten that Shiro has a good six inches on him, and he has to look _up_ to meet his eyes. “It _was_ nice,” he says. “I’m having a good time.”

The hand on Keith’s back flexes a little. He allows himself to be reeled in.

“I’m having a really good time,” he whispers.

Shiro pulls him close with both hands on Keith’s hips. If Keith wasn’t already a little tipsy, he’d be drunk on the proximity. This close, with Shiro ducked down with his lips so close to Keith’s ear, Keith can smell his aftershave. Thankfully, he still has his wits enough to know that licking his date’s neck in the middle of the sidewalk in a well-lit part of town is probably not a great idea.

“I’m glad,” Shiro breathes. “I am, too.” His breath tickles the shell of Keith’s ear.

Keith can feel his heart beating in his throat. They’re _so_ close. He could turn his head just a little, angle it just so, and he’d be kissing Shiro. Maybe he could get Shiro to back him up against the brick wall. Maybe he could wrap one leg around him and feel Shiro’s hand on his thigh. He could probably manage to do that in these pants, they’re probably not too tight—

He feels Shiro move just a fraction, so that his nose grazes Keith’s cheek. He readies himself for the kiss, feels the anticipation way down in his bones.

And then he feels the warm press of lips against his cheekbone.

It’s unbearably sweet. It’s so unexpected and so tender, it nearly makes him week in the knees.

“Come on,” Shiro murmurs. “Let’s take that walk.”

They lapse into silence until they get a little farther from the lights and sounds. Keith feels nearly dizzy from the kiss-that-wasn’t-even-a-kiss. He can’t even bring himself to be disappointed in his shattered fantasy. In a way, this is better. Shiro isn’t anything like the guys he’s dated before, and even though he feels like he’s losing his footing a little, he thinks he’s okay with the uncertainty of it. It feels like if he slips, Shiro will catch him.

Maybe it’s naive to think that about a man he’s still just getting to know, but there’s a security to Shiro that Keith hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“You okay?” Shiro asks after a while. He’s looking at him softly with only a small hint of concern.

“I’m great,” Keith answers honestly. He lets himself smile back. He thinks he might even be blushing, though he doubts Shiro can see it if he is. “I think I might be a little drunk.”

Shiro laughs and wraps an arm around Keith’s waist. Keith tucks himself into Shiro’s side and lets himself be supported.

“Are you gonna be okay getting home? How did you get here?”

“Uber,” Keith says. “I was gonna ride my bike, but I decided not to.”

“Your bike?”

“Oh, yeah, like, my motorcycle.”

Shiro inhales sharply. “Motorcycle, huh?” Keith turns to look up at him, and Shiro is already looking back, one side of him mouth turned up. “I’ve never dated a boy with a motorcycle before. Always thought it sounded fun, though.”

Keith’s never liked being teased before, but coming from Shiro, it makes him feel a little giddy.

“Oh yeah?”

“ _Oh yeah_ ,” Shiro says. “I’ve always had a thing for bad boys.”

Keith really laughs then, loudly and uninhibited, and he loves that he can feel Shiro laughing quietly next to him.

“What’s so funny?” Shiro asks through his laughter.

“Nothing,” Keith says. “It’s just, if you’re looking for a bad boy, you might be disappointed. I’m incredibly boring.”

Shiro squeezes him around the middle. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Believe it,” Keith argues. “I told you, it’s just work, eat, sleep for me.”

“Sounds like literally everyone alive with a job,” Shiro says with a good-natured huff. “I don’t think that makes you boring. It just makes you reliable.”

“Well, maybe,” Keith concedes. “Feels a little boring. Everyone always says your twenties are the best years of your life. I’m not sure where that idea came from.”

“God, I don’t know,” Shiro laughs again. “I _hated_ my twenties. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty I miss about being twenty-five, but honestly? I wouldn’t go back.”

“No? When would you go back, then?”

Shiro doesn’t even hesitate when he says, “If I had to choose, I’d go back to high school. I loved high school. And when I was in school, there was no social media. We barely even had cell phones, for the most part. We actually had to make plans and then follow through with them.”

Keith snorts. “That sucks. What if you didn’t feel like it when the time came?”

“You still showed up. Otherwise, you left your friends hanging without knowing where you were.”

“I think I’d just go without friends,” Keith jokes.

“What about you?” Shiro asks. “When would you go back, if you had to choose?”

Keith actually has to think about it for a minute. It’s not that he’s had a _bad_ life, it’s just that he’s had good things at different times.

“Maybe I’d go back to being a little kid. You know, totally carefree. It was just me and Dad then, but it was okay. Plus, then I could grow up and meet my mom again.”

Shiro just hums his acknowledgement. He doesn’t say anything, just continues to lead Keith along with no apparent destination in mind.

“How’d you end up at the coffee shop, anyway?” he asks eventually. “You said you have a B.S. in physics?”

Keith sighs. “Yeah, well, the plan was to keep going, get my Masters or Ph.D. in something, maybe some kind of engineering. But that didn’t really work out for me. And to be honest, there aren’t that many employers out there looking for someone with a theoretical degree and no related work experience or further education.”

“What happened with grad school?”

Before he answers, Keith takes the time to mull over the most diplomatic response. It’s a sore subject for him, but he doesn’t want to shut Shiro down and make him think he’s not willing to open up.

He eventually settles on saying, “That’s more fourth or fifth date conversation.” Somehow, the response makes Shiro smile.

“Then I guess we’d better make sure we have a fifth date.”

And just like that, Keith feels okay.

“Thanks for tonight,” Keith says as they loop their way around and start back toward the bar. “I’m— I’m really glad you asked me out.”

He’s not ready for the night to end. It’s still early, and he’s not ready to leave Shiro, but it feels like the date is reaching its natural conclusion, and something about Shiro makes him want to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up somehow.

“I’m really glad you came,” Shiro agrees. “When can I see you again?”

The walk back seems so much shorter. He doesn’t want to drag this out, but… but he’s really not ready to say goodbye just yet.

He looks up at Shiro through his eyelashes. “Well, if you want, you could drive me home.”

Shiro brushes a thick lock of hair out of Keith’s face and tucks it behind his ear. He’s seen it done in movies, but, _wow_ , he never thought something like that could make his heart flutter so much.

“Of course,” Shiro says. “Just tell me where to go.”

They wander toward Shiro’s car together, taking their time; he’s parked a little ways down the street, and Keith will steal as much time as he can take.

When he’s feeling brave, he lets his knuckles brush against Shiro’s. There’s no arm around his waist this time, but they’re walking close together. He’s not sure if holding hands is something Shiro is interested in doing. He’s not sure if it will make him seem childish.

He has nothing to worry about, though, because the second time it happens, Shiro twines their fingers together and holds on tight. It’s such a simple touch, but Keith loves it. It makes him feel wanted and cared for.

As they approach the car, Shiro gives his hand a firm squeeze before letting go. He walks around to the passenger’s side and opens the door for Keith. Once again, Shiro’s actions catch him off guard, but bar none, this is the best date he’s ever had.

Shiro makes sure he’s settled into his seat before closing the door for him and letting himself into the driver’s side.

“Okay, Navigator. I’m at your mercy.”

Keith directs him back to his apartment. He momentarily considers asking Shiro if he’d like to come inside, but then he remembers the literal mountain of laundry on his couch, the empty popcorn bowl on the counter, and the fact that he hasn’t cleaned his floors in a month.

Shiro parks, and at this point Keith shouldn’t be surprised when Shiro comes around to let him out and walks him to his door, but he is.

“So, about that dinner?” Shiro asks when they reach Keith’s apartment door.

“Persistent,” Keith teases, but he sounds soft even to his own ears.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Shiro must know it’s not, if the way he’s leaning into Keith’s space says anything

“How about Saturday? I have the whole weekend off.”

Shiro smiles that big, bright smile of his. One day Keith might get used to it, but he hopes it doesn’t happen anytime soon.

“Saturday sounds perfect,” Shiro says. “Goodnight, Keith.”

He leans in and gives Keith another sweet kiss on the cheek. It leaves his skin tingling when Shiro draws back and gives him a little wave as he walks back to his car. Keith stands outside of his apartment and watches until Shiro is out of the parking lot. He’s not really sure what he expected when he showed up at the bar, but he’s intrigued. He reaches up to touch his cheek where Shiro kissed him.

Tomorrow, he’ll have to wake up and go back to work at a job he hates, where the customers suck but the boss sucks more. Tomorrow, he’ll find a way to bond with his fellow wage slaves over someone’s atrocious behavior. He’ll get home feeling too exhausted to fold the clothes on his couch and accidentally take a four-hour nap in his bed before he remembers to wake up and eat.

That’s tomorrow, though.

Tonight, he’ll go inside and make himself a hot cup of tea and treat himself to his favorite delivery place, since they never did get any food. He’ll mash the pile of clothes down so that it makes a comfy little nest to lie on while he watches a sitcom about people with shitty jobs, and he’ll think about how this day started out so miserably, but if given the chance, he’d do it all again to get a kiss on his cheek at the end of it.


End file.
